


Champagne and Alibis

by cheride



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Holidays, New Year's Eve, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28541232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheride/pseuds/cheride
Summary: Ringing in the new year at a fancy party shouldn't be that complicated, but nothing's ever simple for Neal Caffrey.
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey & Alex Hunter, Neal Caffrey/Alex Hunter, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 12
Kudos: 36





	Champagne and Alibis

**Author's Note:**

> They say writing is a solitary undertaking, but that doesn't mean it happens in a vacuum. Thanks to [Mollygail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mollygail/pseuds/Mollygail) and [drwhogirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drwhogirl/pseuds/drwhogirl) for sharing opinions that helped me _finally_ get this thing finished.

* * *

“You might as well spit it out,” Peter said between bites. They were halfway through a lunch of chicken and waffles at some country cooking diner Neal had insisted they try. As usual, his instincts had been spot on, and the food was delicious, but it wasn’t good enough to distract Peter Burke from recognizing that his consultant had something on his mind. 

But Neal barely looked up from dunking a bite of chicken into his maple syrup. “What do you mean?”

Peter sighed. Neal Caffrey had been working as his CI for a little over a year now, and though they’d had some rough patches, on balance, Peter thought things had gone reasonably well. But one of the things he’d never been able to figure out is why Neal continued to believe he could hide things from his handler. Or at least why Neal believed he could hide the fact that he _was_ hiding something, because while Peter might not always know the details, the agent always knew when Neal was up to _something._ So, for now, he simply arched an eyebrow and fixed the younger man with a knowing gaze. “You know what I mean. You’ve got something on your mind, so you might as well tell me and get it over with.”

Neal let out a small sigh of his own but kept his attention on his food. “It’s nothing really.”

“Neal.” That tone, no-nonsense but with the slightest undercurrent of concern, almost always got through to Neal, and Peter wasn’t above using it to his advantage.

Sighing again, Neal laid his fork aside and clasped his hands, then finally looked up and met his handler’s gaze. “I’ve been invited to a party. You know, for New Year’s Eve. But it’s outside my radius, so I know it’s out of the question.” When Peter just continued to stare without comment, Neal shook his head. “I told you it wasn’t really anything important,” he said, then went back to his lunch.

Peter watched him for another moment before replying. “So, you weren’t even going to ask?”

“Didn’t figure there was much point,” Neal told him, staying focused on cutting his waffle carefully along the lines.

“Instead, you were just going to make me watch you pout about it for the next three weeks?”

“Maybe.”

“Where is it?”

Surprised, Neal answered, “At the elevated acre.” But Peter looked at him blankly, and Neal rolled his eyes. “Are you even a real New Yorker?” Then he took a breath and added the part he knew would stop the conversation cold. “It’s in the financial district.”

Of course, Peter’s expression hardened immediately, and the interest that had been growing in his eyes, like he might actually consider giving his blessing, faded completely.

“And that’s why I wasn’t going to ask,” Neal said flatly.

Peter understood and wholly approved of the restraint; he always appreciated when Neal actually seemed willing to live within his restrictions. But he still couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. Neal really had done some good work for them, and even if he approved of the unusual restraint, Peter also kind of hated that the kid was so sure of denial that he hadn’t even planned on asking. So, without entirely meaning to, he asked, “Who invited you? Sara?”

Neal sighed again. He wished Peter didn’t always know the right questions to ask. “Alex.”

Peter’s guilt disappeared. “No,” he said decisively.

“I know,” Neal said softly, and returned to his chicken and waffles.

* * *

“So, do you have big plans for New Year’s Eve?” Elizabeth asked as she spooned strawberry topping over three slices of cheesecake.

The smile Neal had been wearing throughout dinner faltered, and he forced himself not to look at Peter. “Not really. Probably just watch the ball drop on TV with June and Mozzie. This looks delicious. You’ll spoil me.” He took the dessert she offered and hoped the topic was closed.

But he wasn’t going to get that lucky.

“I thought maybe you’d be taking Sara out.”

“No. It’s complicated with us.”

“Oh. Even so, I’m sure there are dozens of girls who’d love to be with you at midnight, sweetie.”

“El,” Peter broke in, a slight warning in his tone. When she raised her eyebrows at him questioningly, he shook his head once, then said, “This cheesecake really is good,” and Elizabeth finally let it go.

But the easy conviviality of the evening was lost, and Neal said his farewells immediately after helping straighten up the kitchen. El kissed his cheek and said goodnight cheerfully, reminding him they were expecting him for dinner on Christmas Eve, but she sighed as she locked the door behind him and switched off the porch light. “All right,” she said firmly as she returned to the living room, “what did I walk into there?”

Slouched on the sofa, beer in hand, Peter huffed out a short breath. “He’s mad because he wants to go to a party outside his radius.”

“Oh.” El tucked herself against Peter’s chest. “Well, I’m sorry I brought it up and ruined the evening.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Peter assured her. “He’s a grown man, not to mention a convicted felon. He knows the rules. Hell, he practically _invented_ the rules, though he forgets sometimes this whole thing was his idea.” He shook his head in frustration. “I think he also forgets the alternative option sometimes. But he’s been moping around about this for a week now. He’ll get over it.”

Rather than answer right away, Elizabeth reached over, plucked the beer bottle from his grasp, and then helped herself to a long drink. After a few moments of silence, she asked, “Why can’t he go?”

Peter looked at her skeptically. “You heard the part about it being outside his radius, right?”

“Oh, hon, he’s outside his radius every day. So what?”

“Yeah, when he’s with me!”

“How about when he’s undercover?”

“Then there’s an entire team of agents just minutes away.”

“Except when there’s not.”

Peter closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Whenever El was in defense-of-Neal mode, things could get tricky. He thought maybe he should quit giving her so many details about his workday. “Except when there’s not,” he finally conceded, then turned to face her. “Why are you always on his side?”

“I’m always on _your_ side,” Elizabeth assured him with a smile, “but surely things would be easier for you if he wasn’t _moping around_ for the next two weeks. And it just seems to me if he was thinking about running or something, he wouldn’t ask for an exception to his radius, which he knows would make you watch him even closer than normal.”

“Maybe. But his would-be date is an old girlfriend who’s also a thief and a fence. I shouldn’t allow him to associate with her at all, but once again, Neal forgets how lenient I actually am and how much worse things could be for him.”

“I don’t think he forgets, hon. But you said it yourself; he’s a grown man. It’s got to be difficult having to ask permission for something as simple as taking a girl to a party, much less being told no.”

Peter exhaled loudly and took his beer back. The hell of it was that Elizabeth wasn’t wrong, but there was just nothing he could do about it in good conscience. “He’s a convicted felon,” he pointed out again, “and he has a radius for a reason. I can’t just turn two thieves loose in the financial district just because I feel bad for him. Can you imagine if they decided to rip off the Federal Reserve or something?” Peter gave a visible shudder. “The Bureau wouldn’t be able to fire me fast enough.”

“Neal’s not going to get you fired,” El objected, but Peter just stared at her until she stammered out an amendment. “At least . . .not on purpose.” They both knew it had come dangerously close to that already, even if it wasn’t entirely Neal’s fault. But then she regained her confidence. “And ripping off the Federal Reserve would definitely be on purpose, so I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

“I _do_ have to worry about that, El,” Peter contradicted. “It’s my job to worry, to make sure he doesn’t have the opportunity to make a mistake that ruins all our lives.”

Elizabeth tried another tack. “Besides, I’m sure every place down there is going to have crazy security that night anyway. Even at our event—” she broke off and cocked a curious eyebrow. “Where is this party, anyway?”

“Umm, I don’t know. Elevator garden, or something. Why?”

“Elevated acre?” El asked, fondly exasperated.

“Yeah, that sounds right. _Why?_ ”

A gleeful smile spread across her face. “Peter, that’s _my_ event. The one you said you didn’t want to go to.”

Peter groaned. He could feel his relaxing New Year’s Eve slipping through his fingers.

“See, you can let Neal go because I’ll be there. I can keep an eye on him.”

“Elizabeth, first of all, you’ll have your own job to do that night. Second, you can’t be responsible for two felons.”

“Peter, quit calling him a _felon_.”

And this was why Peter hated it when his wife started defending his CI, because eventually, it always came down to this. “He _is_ a felon, hon.”

“I know that,” she snapped. “But he’s also our friend; he’s your partner. You label him a felon like that’s the most important thing about him. It isn’t fair.”

As far as Peter was concerned, the part that wasn’t fair was how easy it was for El to make that distinction. It was simple for her to focus only on the charming, personable guy at their dinner table, completely discounting his dozens of crimes, thousands of lies, millions of dollars stolen. Peter didn’t have that luxury. He couldn’t simply ignore what Neal had done before, what he was certainly still able—and likely willing—to do again. It didn’t work like that; it _couldn’t_ work like that, no matter how much Peter might wish that it could.

What he finally said was, “It’s not the most important thing, hon, but it is important. But I understand what you’re saying—and what you’re not quite saying. If your invitation is still open, I’ll talk to Neal tomorrow. I don’t imagine he’ll be so interested once he knows I’ll be there to chaperone, but I’ll ask him.”

With a small smile, Elizabeth folded herself back against him. “Maybe I’ll start inviting Neal to all my fancy parties. He’ll have fun, and I’ll get to date the chaperone.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Peter chuckled and placed a soft kiss on the top of her head.

* * *

Peter watched Neal stroll into the office, the typical bounce in his step and a cocky smile on his face. Then he saw the young man stiffen slightly—probably imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t watching for it—and the smile slip as Neal saw the sticky note on the top of his Socrates bust. Peter was probably being petty, leaving a message directing Neal to his office right away instead of just waiting until his consultant came up on his own, or even calling him up like normal to broach the subject of the party. But he was still annoyed that the kid’s moody behavior had caused him to have even a tiny spat with his wife, so as far as Peter was concerned, Neal deserved a little bit of a scare.

After hanging his coat, Neal yanked the note off the bust, grimacing as he crumpled it into the trash, dropped his hat in its place on top of Socrates, then straightened his jacket and turned to march himself upstairs. Regardless of the tension he’d witnessed, Peter wasn’t surprised that the relaxed demeanor was firmly back in place by the time the young man reached the office. No one knew how to keep up appearances better than Neal Caffrey.

“Good morning, Peter. You wanted to see me?” Neal dropped into the guest chair without waiting for an invitation.

Peter didn’t beat around the bush. “I wanted to talk to you about your New Year’s plans.”

Neal’s eyes grew troubled. “We don’t have to do that,” he protested, “you’ve made your position clear. I’m sorry about last night; Elizabeth just kind of caught me off guard. I hope I didn’t upset her.”

“No, she was upset _for_ you, not because of you.”

“Oh.” Neal considered that for a second, then said earnestly, “I swear I didn’t ask her to bring it up.”

Peter’s jaw was suddenly slack as his eyebrows shot up. “I never thought that,” he assured Neal quickly, honestly. Not because he thought Neal was above recruiting El to his cause, but because he thought he had a pretty good feel for when Neal might cross that line and for what. A holiday party didn’t seem like it would warrant that sort of encroachment, no matter how aggravated Neal might be. He smiled a little as he saw his friend relax.

“Okay, good. Then what’s on your mind?”

The agent’s smile spread as he realized the casual attitude was no longer faked nor forced. This was the guy El always defended, not the guy Peter needed to defend against. “I might have a solution to your social crisis. It seems your party is also El’s party, so since I’m going to be there anyway—”

“Peter,” Neal broke in, frowning, “I didn’t know this was Elizabeth’s event, but I do know you already turned her down when she asked you to go with her. ‘ _Why would I want to spend all night in a monkey suit hobnobbing with strangers when I could be home watching football?_ ’ were your exact words, if I recall correctly. So, if you’re about to offer to babysit me, at least be honest about it.”

“I would’ve used the word chaperone,” Peter retorted, chagrined. “And, okay, originally, I might not’ve been thrilled with the idea, but El still wanted me to go, and you want to go, so I might as well go.”

Neal studied his handler soberly, his expression a mixture of gratitude and disappointment. He voiced the disappointment first. “You really still think I need a chaperone, Peter? What is it you think I’m going to do?”

Peter didn’t flinch under the sadly accusing tone. “Honestly? I think you probably just want to go to a party. But I also think you don’t always make the best decisions, especially where your friends are concerned, and I don’t have nearly the faith in Alex that I have in you. I also think it’s not in your best interest if people start worrying that my objectivity is compromised, and there’s no logical way to explain allowing you out of your radius just to attend a party with another known felon, especially when the party in question takes place a stone’s throw from every thief’s dream heist.”

Offering a tiny smile, Neal asked, “You have faith in me?”

Chuckling, Peter shook his head. Trust Neal to hear what he wanted to hear; the guy often had a childlike way of focusing on the positive. “Enough faith to believe you actually _wouldn’t_ rip off the Fed while I’m responsible for you. And enough to believe that with a second set of eyes to back you up, you can even keep Alex in line. So, if having your FBI handler on-site isn’t a deal-breaker, then you can go to your party.”

Neal sat silently for a few more seconds. Then, suddenly, his face was alight with a dazzling grin—the grin Peter always wanted to dislike because it practically screamed **_con man_** _,_ but it was so infectious the agent usually just grinned in response instead.

“It’s our first double-date!”

“Hold your horses there, Sundance,” Peter laughed. “This most certainly is _not_ a double-date.”

“If you say so,” Neal answered, pouting just a little. Then the grin returned. “I bet Elizabeth will think it’s a double-date.”

“I think Elizabeth has already taken your side enough for this little shindig.”

“Probably. I’ll have to be sure and thank her for her help.” Then Neal’s grin faded again, softening into something smaller and more personal, a smile Peter actually _liked_ because it never looked like a con at all. “Thank you, too, Peter,” he said sincerely. “Really.”

Peter waved a hand slightly. “You know how you can thank me?”

“Don’t steal the gold from the Fed?” Neal guessed.

“No. I mean, _no,_ of course, don’t steal the gold, but that’s not what I meant. What I was going to say is now that you’re not going to be sulking about the party anymore, try not to get so giddy that you still can’t concentrate. Those bank fraud files on your desk aren’t going to solve themselves.”

Neal laughed lightly. “Got it, no giddiness at the office. I’ve got, um . . . eight working days left this year; how about I solve at least three of them for you?”

“ _Three?_ You know those are from the cold cases?”

Neal shrugged and didn’t look the least bit worried. And, really, Peter figured there was no reason he should. The agent had realized pretty quickly that Neal looked at the cases differently than anyone at the Bureau, and there was a reason Peter always gave him the cold files.

“At _least_ three,” the consultant repeated smugly, and Peter just laughed and waved him out of the office. Maybe going to this party was going to be a good idea after all.

* * *

As it turned out, Neal only managed to solve two of the cases before the Long Island office reached out to Peter and asked for some help with an undercover operation that would be taking place in the city, and then the CI spent several days helping them take down a money laundering scheme, so Peter conceded that Neal had lived up to his end of the bargain and didn’t tease him _too_ much about not getting the third one finished. Neal actually considered going into the office today to see if he could finish it up—he knew he was close—but ultimately decided he’d rather take advantage of a federal holiday than show off for his federal handler. Besides, he wasn’t above enjoying a day of lounging and pampering to feel his best before a big night on the town, especially when he didn’t get that many nights out to begin with.

Neal smiled as he finished buttoning the last stud on his crisp cotton shirt, then made sure it was tucked perfectly into his pants. He still couldn’t really believe Peter had agreed to this. Getting the man out to any sort of social event was often an ordeal, much less getting him to a _black-tie_ event. He still wasn’t sure exactly what Elizabeth had said to change her husband’s mind, but Neal was grateful. Plus, Neal’s own issues aside, Peter needed to loosen up and have a night on the town every once in a while, himself. Neal draped a tie around his neck just as he heard the knock on his door.

He crossed the room quickly, wearing a wide, welcoming smile as he pulled open the door. Then his breath caught, and he just stared in silent appreciation. Alex Hunter was always beautiful, but in floor-length, form-fitting, velvet burgundy . . .

“You look fantastic,” he finally managed, stepping aside to let her enter, but then he grabbed her waist and leaned to kiss her cheek. “Really fantastic,” he whispered.

“It’s a special night,” Alex replied, smiling up at him. 

“It is,” Neal agreed as he released her and closed the door. “I’m almost ready,” he continued, “but we’ve got a little time before dinner; would you like some wine?”

“Please.” She placed her cloak over the back of the sofa, then moved to join Neal in the kitchen. “Chateau Margaux,” she said appreciatively, watching him pour, “that’s impressive.”

“Like you said, it’s a special night.” His smile hinted at things to come as he handed her a glass, then he moved back toward his bedroom to finish dressing while Alex seated herself on the couch, watching him as she sipped her wine.

“I can’t believe you got in a cab in that dress,” Neal said as he looped his bowtie into shape. “I wish you would’ve let me pick you up.”

But Alex shook her head. “I told you, no anklet at my place. Bad enough your nosy suit is going to be at the party; he doesn’t need to know where I live.”

Neal just rolled his eyes. He’d like to assure her Peter had better things to do than check his consultant’s tracking data just to see where he’d gone, but he always preferred not to lie to his friends if he could help it. He thought it was possible Peter no longer pulled up his map _every_ day, but Neal had no illusion that the agent wouldn’t be checking tonight. In fact, he doubted the tracking app on Peter’s phone would be closed all night long. He still offered a slight defense of his handler while he fastened his cufflinks. “He’s not a bad guy, Alex; I’d think you would’ve realized that by now.”

But Alex was obstinate. “He’s a fed, Neal; that means the less he knows, the better.”

“I guess I can’t argue too much with that philosophy. But does that mean you’re not going to let me drive you home, either?” He slipped on his jacket, adjusted his sleeves, checked his reflection one last time, and then joined Alex on the sofa.

Alex offered him a sip of wine and a seductive smile. “Drive me home? You’ve already decided you’re not going to ask me to stay?”

“A gentleman never presumes.” Neal set the glass aside then got to his feet, pulling Alex with him. “C’mon, the car should be here any minute.” He unfurled her cloak with a flourish and draped it around her shoulders, his nimble fingers easily setting the clasp back in place. He made sure to position it carefully so that the ruby and diamond choker she wore was still visible. He traced a finger gently down her neck, lingering on the choker. “This is exquisite,” he murmured, “but I’m not sure it’s the kind of thing you should wear in front of a nosy suit.”

Laughing, Alex brushed her lips lightly against his. “I figure there are some questions even Peter Burke won’t ask in polite company.” As she pulled away, she straightened his tie slightly and smoothed her hands over his satin lapels. “You do clean up nice, Caffrey.”

He grinned as he crooked an arm, and she slid her hers through it willingly. “There’s a lot to live up to when you’re with the prettiest girl in the place.”

She shook her head, eyes twinkling. “I knew there was a reason I liked having you around.”

Neal just laughed as he escorted her out the door.

* * *

Neal was pleasantly relaxed, and Alex was almost giddy by the time they reached the escalator that would lead them up a few stories to their destination. With their rocky history, sometimes Neal forgot just how much he could enjoy Alex’s company, but dinner had been delicious, with engaging conversation, free-flowing wine, and, in honor of the day, perfectly chilled champagne with strawberries and chocolate fondue for dessert.

At the top of the escalator, Alex presented her invitation, and they were allowed to proceed.

“Wow,” Alex breathed, “it’s beautiful.”

Greenspaces in Manhattan weren’t all that plentiful, and it was nice to enjoy the night in one, even in the winter. And even at first glance, Neal could tell that Elizabeth had outdone herself this time. The tree trunks on the rooftop garden area were wrapped in warm white bulbs while amber rain lights were hung from the branches, cascading slowly, giving the impression of twinkling falling stars. The pathways were lined with small luminarias, alternating gold and red. Further across the space, Neal could see various tents were set up, and he could hear the sounds of light jazz filtering through the air. The other thing that was immediately apparent was that patio heaters were plentiful, making the oasis feel more like early October than late December—brisk but not cold, the perfect temperature for dancing in formal wear. Smiling, Neal grabbed Alex by the hand, and they made their way to the coat check tent.

“I suppose the first thing we ought to do is check in with your guard dog,” Alex said after they’d dropped off their coats.

And Neal would’ve liked to argue the point, to protest that it wasn’t like that, but Alex was right—it was precisely like that. Still, this place was as lovely as his date, and Neal intended to have a good time, so he just smiled, offered his hand again, and they made their way farther inward. “Wherever there’s a chair and a beer,” he said wryly, “that’s where we’ll find Peter.” He wasn’t wrong.

They found the agent in one of the smallest tents, just a few tables and chairs inside, a place where guests could take a break from some of the hubbub of the party. He was sitting alone, tuxedo jacket unbuttoned as he lounged in a folding chair, glass of beer in his hand, but perfectly situated so he could watch the opening that looked out at the path in front of the tent—obviously waiting.

Alex didn’t step inside the tent. “I’ll go get us a drink,” she said softly, “while you deal with this. I’ll be right back.”

Neal nodded and stepped toward the table where Peter sat watching them.

“I was beginning to think you changed your mind,” Peter greeted as Neal approached.

With a small smile, Neal sank into the chair across from his handler. “I told you we were going to dinner first. And it’s not even nine o’clock.”

“You know they’ve got enough fancy finger foods here to feed a small country.”

“I haven’t been out for New Year’s Eve in five years, Peter; I wasn’t going to feed my date finger food no matter how fancy it is.”

Peter nodded like he understood, but Neal was pretty sure the hors d’oeuvres would’ve always been fine for Peter, no matter how long it had been since he’d been to a holiday party.

“Have you seen Elizabeth?” Neal asked.

“Sure, but she’s busy. She knows where to find me whenever she gets a minute.”

“You’re just going to sit here all night?” Neal suddenly felt guilty for making the guy miss his football games for this.

“Nah, I’ll wander around some now and again, get another beer, have a fancy sandwich with cucumber or something.”

Neal shook his head. “Peter, this is so unnecessary. I swear I’m not gonna—” he broke off when he saw the man’s face darken in warning, but then he risked another comment. “I don’t suppose I should point out how you being here is really just symbolic? That once I disappear into that crowd out there, you still won’t really know where I am or what I’m doing?”

“I wouldn’t, no,” Peter said firmly. “Besides . . .” He pulled his phone from his pocket and dropped it on the table in front of his consultant.

Seeing the map with the blinking light, Neal rolled his eyes. Apparently, the tracking app really was going to be open all night. He sighed and said, “Okay, then I’ll just say ‘thank you’ again. But I really hate that you hate this so much.”

Peter softened. “Hey, you’re welcome. And I really don’t hate it all _that_ much. Besides, I got a couple of cold cases off the books out of the deal; I may have to remember that in the future.”

“For the record, you can always bribe me with a fancy party outside my radius.”

“For the record,” Peter said sternly, “the FBI doesn’t _bribe_ . . . we incentivize.”

Neal was laughing as he got to his feet. “Okay, well, I’m completely amenable to an incentive plan. But right now, Alex seems to be taking a while to make it back with drinks, so I’m going to go track her down, do some dancing, enjoy myself. You try not to get too bored staring at my dot, staying exactly where it’s supposed to be.”

“That’s never boring,” Peter assured him, then he smiled warmly. “Go. Have fun.”

“I’ll see you later, Peter.”

Neal made his way back out into the party crowd, stepping out of the walkway to scan the area looking for Alex. He’d expected to find her just outside the tent waiting for him, avoiding Peter, but that obviously wasn’t the case. As he looked around the crowd, seeing everyone in their finery, he couldn’t help but consider past days at similar events. These sorts of gatherings were easy pickings, with gems glistening on the women, high karat watches and cufflinks on the men, sometimes even wads of cash stuffed in pockets or bras. It would be _so_ simple to take advantage of tonight and supplement the pittance the FBI paid him—if only Peter wasn’t counting on him to behave. Neal shook his head ruefully. Peter always worried so much, determined to keep his CI from stepping out of line, never realizing how much he had already done.

But then, Neal drew in a sharp breath, suddenly alarmed. He was tempted by his surroundings, but Alex might be more than tempted. If word got back to Peter about a spate of thefts at this party, he might never convince the man of his innocence. He began a determined stroll through the pathways, along the boardwalk, over to the amphitheater, then to the group of tents on the lawn. As he walked among the lights, he could smell the faint scent of citrus mixed with a hint of cinnamon—invigorating but still holidayish; he would have to remember to ask El what they’d used to create that feeling. It was easy to forget he was surrounded by concrete and skyscrapers, and he wished he could take the time to really enjoy the atmosphere, but that would have to wait until after he found Alex.

Finally, he saw her, in between the bar and band tents, smiling as she chatted with— _dammit._ Neal quickened his pace, crossing the rooftop lawn purposefully, but he had pasted a genial smile on his face by the time he reached his target and sidled close to Alex. “I thought I’d lost you,” he said, placing a quick peck on her cheek. He gestured to the wine glasses she held. “Is one of those for me?”

Alex passed over a glass of red. “Sorry, I was on my way back when I ran into Dorian.”

Neal supposed he had ignored the man as long as he could, though it wouldn’t have bothered him even a little bit not to have run into Dorian Cobb tonight. “Dorian,” he greeted blandly.

“Caffrey. I’d heard you’d fallen on some hard times, but I didn’t know you’d been reduced to being a plus one just to make it to an A list party.”

“I’m never ashamed of being with Alex, even when it means I have to make small talk with guys like you.”

“Boys,” Alex broke in, “this is a nice party. Why don’t you both put away the rulers for tonight.”

Neal turned to her with a wisp of a smile and a hand at the small of her back. “Of course, sorry.” He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Would you be a dear and go get me another drink?” When she frowned at him and arched an eyebrow with a pointed look at the full glass in his hand, he added, “Please?”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Alex smiled sweetly, “I’m going to grab myself a refill.” She patted Neal’s arm. “You boys behave while I’m gone.”

Neal watched her go, then turned back to face the other man. Dorian was taller than Neal by four or five inches, and older by about five years, with dirty blond hair that he wore with a big spiky swoosh in front that Neal always thought made the guy look like he was trying too hard to be cool. And tonight, in a deep blue tuxedo jacket covered in a black floral pattern that would’ve looked more at home on prom night than here at a formal Manhattan holiday party, Neal wondered if Dorian was going through some sort of early midlife crisis. Or, more likely, he was trying to make sure that he’d be noticed. Neal could recognize someone setting an alibi, especially such a low-class thief as Dorian Cobb. Neal fought back a sigh; whatever Dorian was planning, he was sure it would cause problems for him, so Neal just asked outright.

“Dorian, what are you up to? What are you even doing here?” 

Dorian snickered at him. “You’re getting sloppy, Caffrey. Do you just tag along behind Alex like a little puppy, no questions asked? This is _my_ party. The question is, what are _you_ doing here?”

Caught off guard, Neal stated the obvious. “I’m with Alex.” But his mind was racing. If Alex had dragged him into something without telling him . . . Bad enough that he might end up in prison again, but at least as important, Peter would never forgive him.

Dorian narrowed his eyes. “You’re not working anything? Not here for the plate?”

“I’m not,” Neal assured him genuinely, resisting the impulse to ask for details. “And, believe me, Dorian, you shouldn’t be working anything tonight, either. Have you seen the security down here?”

Stepping close, Dorian brushed at imaginary lint on Neal’s jacket, then tugged on the lapels. “Don’t you worry about me, Caffrey,” he said smugly. “You just stay here and enjoy the free booze; that’s probably more your speed these days, anyway.”

Neal didn’t let himself react to the attitude—though the desire to accidentally toss the wine in Dorian’s arrogant face was strong—but simply looked up at him and said quietly, “You’re making a mistake.”

But Dorian smirked as he patted Neal’s cheek, said, “Tell Alex I’ll call her,” then turned and walked away.

Neal blew out a loud breath as he watched the other man strut away. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. He stayed in the space between the tents, sipping his wine and trying not to let his thoughts get ahead of him as he waited for Alex. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long.

“Alex,” he hissed as soon as she returned, “what is going on? If you’re putting me into the middle of something—”

“Relax, Caffrey, nothing’s going on.”

“You didn’t tell me this was Dorian’s party,” he accused.

“Because I knew how you’d react.”

“How I’d _react?_ Like someone who knows enough to stay away from Dorian Cobb, you mean? Yeah, I sure as hell would’ve done that. You know the guy’s bad news, Alex. His jobs are sloppy; people get hurt. And whenever something goes wrong, someone else always takes the fall. You can’t trust him.”

“I’ve never had any trouble with him.”

“Don’t play dumb, Alex; it doesn’t become you. I know you must’ve heard the stories.” He looked at her intently, locking their gazes. “Did you know he had a job tonight? Am I here for some kind of cover, some kind of fall guy?”

For just a second, anger flashed in her brown eyes, but it was quickly replaced by sadness. “I wouldn’t do that, Neal. I think your deal with the feds is crazy, but I don’t want to see you back in prison. I didn’t know anything about a job; I honestly just thought this was a party.”

“And what do you know now?”

Alex shrugged. “Not much. He just said he might need me in a few days.”

Neal sighed. “Alex, whatever he’s planning, I can’t let it happen. If _anything_ happens tonight, anywhere near here, Peter’s going to blame me. Honestly, he’s probably going to blame you, too, but you’ve got your connections, and we actually would be innocent, so other than the hassle of a few hours questioning, you’d be fine. But me, I’d be back in maximum security before your interrogation was finished. I’m not going back to prison just because I wanted to come to a party. I’ve got to tell Peter.”

“You’re gonna turn him in?” Alex was aghast.

“Yeah, I’m gonna turn him in! It’s him or me, Alex, and that’s an easy choice for me. I’d hope it would be an easy choice for you. Come with me to talk to Peter.”

“Neal . . .”

“Alex, it’s what protects us both.”

“Protects us? Neal, he’s a _fed!_ A fed who already doesn’t trust you enough to leave you unattended anywhere in the financial district. You tell him you know about a heist down here, and he’ll have you in cuffs before the ball drops.”

“It’s not like that,” Neal insisted. “He’ll listen if I go to him before anything happens.” He ignored the tiny part of his mind that warned him Alex could be right.

“Dorian’s got his issues, but I don’t know if I want to be part of sending him to prison.”

“Look, we may not even be able to put together enough information for Peter to arrest him, but I need to stop whatever he’s planning.”

“But you don’t care if he _does_ get arrested,” Alex said flatly.

Neal met the accusation without apology. “No, I don’t. I told you; he’s dangerous. Guys like him give us all a bad name. He probably _should_ be in prison, but my goal tonight is to keep myself from ending up there.” Then he raised a gentle hand to her face, stroking her cheek softly. “And, Alex, you know I’ll protect you if I need to, even if—even if there’s something you haven’t told me yet, so if there’s anything else . . .”

And then she smiled at him, open, beguiling, erasing all of his doubt. “There’s nothing else, Caffrey.” She reached up to take his hand in hers. “But I’m about to lose my dance partner for the night, aren’t I?”

“Sorry.”

Alex shook her head fondly. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but let’s go talk to Peter.”

But when they got back to the small tent where Peter had been hiding out, the agent wasn’t there. The space was still mostly empty—just two other couples obviously looking for a respite from the party—so it wasn’t an encroaching crowd that had run him off. For just a second, Neal contemplated how ironic it would be if Peter had actually taken him at his word and gone home, leaving his favorite felon to his own devices. For once, he was glad that was unlikely to be the case. He led Alex to a table away from the others so they could talk mostly in private.

“Okay, we need to figure out what his target is. The only thing he said to me was something about a plate; does that make any sense to you?”

“Not really. It could be anything. Some ancient artifact?” Alex suggested. “Or maybe a ceramic art piece?”

Neal wrinkled his brow. “I don’t know. There are some ceramics out there, but nothing I can think of that would be worth the risk of stealing tonight. And nothing I know of that would make Dorian set up down here. He would’ve had his party somewhere uptown for better access.”

“Some sort of imprint for a historical document? A Warhol print master? A printing plate for—”

The thought hit them at once; they looked at each other wide-eyed and spoke in unison, “Money!”

“Yes,” Neal said excitedly, “that would make sense down here in the financial district. Maybe some sort of stock certificate plate, but probably money. But they don’t print currency down here, so why would something like that even be around?”

“Maybe I should go see if I can get some more information from him,” Alex offered, but Neal disagreed.

“ _No._ Were you not listening to anything I said? He’s dangerous. Mostly I think just because he’s careless and willing to sacrifice others, not because I think he’s deliberately gone after people, but I’d just as soon you not be the guinea pig to find that out for sure.” He reached to pull his phone from his pocket. “Let’s see if we can do a little research on our own. If either one of us has to go back for information from him, I’d rather we wait until Peter’s up to speed.”

“God, Caffrey, we’ve done this sort of thing hundreds of times; since when do we need a fed for gathering intel?”

“Since the whole point of this exercise is to make sure nobody thinks we’re involved in whatever heist is going down. We need to keep our distance until I’m sure Peter understands the situation.”

Alex rolled her eyes and huffed a little, but she didn’t argue any more. Instead, she turned slightly away from him and reached down the neck of her dress to pull her own phone from a discreet pocket that kept it nestled in her cleavage. Neal grinned at her lasciviously. “That doesn’t seem very convenient, but I would’ve been glad to help you out.”

“I thought a gentleman never presumed?” Alex laughed.

“I would’ve asked first!” He winked at her just before they both started tapping on their phones.

“I’ll handle the messages,” Alex said, “you do research.”

Neal smiled his thanks. The kinds of people they’d need to contact would automatically assume questions meant ulterior motives, and he really did want to minimize those sorts of assumptions—at least regarding this particular job.

“I’m not sure one glass of wine is enough for this,” Alex said after a while, sitting back and watching her phone for replies.

Neal grinned ruefully but didn’t look up from his research. “You should try it with only government issue coffee.”

Alex shuddered in sympathy. “That sounds almost as bad as prison.”

Neal did look up then, no trace of the evening’s humor and flirtation in his eyes. “No. It isn’t.” Then he went back to work.

Alex wisely sipped her wine in silence.

Shortly afterward, Neal let out a victorious cry. “Got it!” He downed a gulp of wine in relief. “Finance museum,” he explained. “They’re opening an exhibit on counterfeiting that includes a twenty-dollar plate.”

“I’m not sure Dorian would need a fence for that,” Alex commented. “He’s the type that would try to put it to use himself.”

“He probably is,” Neal agreed, his tone making clear what he thought of that idea. “I’m tempted to let him steal it and get caught with his own amateur bills. But it looks like there’s plenty of stuff down there he could grab while he’s inside. Lots of currency of all ages, even some uncut, gold coins, some Hamilton documents. No telling what he might be planning to bring to you.” His tone became a little bit envious when he added, “I have to admit, I never considered hitting that place, but there’s quite a haul in there, even without the plate.”

“Dorian lacks a lot of your skills, Caffrey, but he’s always been more devious and more crass. I’m not surprised he found a big score that’s not much more than a glorified smash and grab.”

“I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere,” Neal laughed, “so I’ll take it.” He glanced at his phone. “But where _is_ Peter? It’s after ten.” He quickly tapped out a text message, then grinned. “That should get him here.”

Looking around at the now-empty tent, Neal stood, then offered his hand down to Alex. “We’ve probably got time for one dance.”

She moved comfortably into his arms, and they could just hear the band playing _Stardust_ as they swayed together. “We should do this more often,” Alex murmured, her cheek resting against his chest.

Privately, Neal didn’t necessarily disagree, but he knew Alex wanted more than he did, and he’d decided long ago that he’d hurt her enough for a lifetime, so these days he never made Alex promises, not even subtle ones. Instead, he just pulled her a little closer and kept dancing.

But he’d misjudged his handler’s response time, and they didn’t quite get to finish the song.

“What the hell do you mean you need an alibi?” Peter demanded loudly as he strode into the tent.

Alex grinned up at him. “Maybe you’re more devious than I thought.”

His eyes were twinkling as he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Thanks for the dance,” he said softly, then they turned to face the fuming agent.

“Peter, I need to talk to you.”

“Damn right you do.”

Neal chuckled. Maybe he shouldn’t have been quite so devious. “Calm down; it was a joke.” But the grin slipped just a little. “Mostly.” He pointed to the table. “Let’s sit.”

“Caffrey . . .”

“Peter. Please. Sit.”

Peter clenched his jaw and sat.

Rather than sit with the men, Alex said suddenly, “I’m going to go get us some drinks.”

“Alex . . .” Neal warned.

“Just drinks,” she promised. “I’ll be right back.”

Peter looked suspiciously between the two of them, but he was ultimately only concerned with his CI, so he let Alex leave without any objections.

“Do you know Dorian Cobb?” Neal asked right away, not wanting Peter to get any more agitated.

“He’s popped up on our radar a time or two. Thief. Nothing special.”

Neal fought back a grin. He was pretty sure there was a compliment there, too. “Yeah, that’s him. Turns out this is his party; you might want to start vetting your wife’s clients. Anyway, I think the party’s cover for a heist.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed as his face reddened. “Stop. Do I need to get Elizabeth out of here?”

Of course, that was his first concern. “No, there’s no danger here; the party’s an alibi. I think the finance museum is the target.”

Watching his consultant closely, Peter asked, “And you didn’t know anything about this?” His tone was low and dangerous.

“I didn’t, I swear.”

“What about Alex?”

“Obviously, she knew it was his party; she didn’t know about the heist.”

“You’re sure?”

Neal gazed openly across the table. “I’m sure, Peter.”

Peter’s eyes locked with his friend’s for a long moment, then he blew out a relieved breath. “Okay, tell me.”

With a discreet relieved breath of his own, Neal started talking.

He had just finished the brief recitation of his suspicions when Alex returned with three empty glasses, a bottle of wine, and a bucket of beer. “If we have to miss the party, we might as well bring some of the party to us.” She put everything on the table and seated herself close to Neal. “Everything okay?”

He reached to pour the wine. “No cuffs,” he grinned.

Peter fixed her with a hard stare. “You know anything more about all this, Alex?” he demanded.

She shook her head. “Totally in the dark.” And she was sincere enough that Peter believed her.

He turned his attention back to Neal. “What can you tell me about how this guy works?”

“He works sloppy, Peter, and usually only with one or two other guys. Sometimes not even that, but he’s not the best with safes, so he’s probably got help tonight. And, for what it’s worth, I’ve got a guess about a timeline—sometime between eleven-ten and eleven-thirty-five.”

“That’s pretty precise,” Peter commented, “especially for someone claiming not to know much about the guy or his job.”

Neal sighed at the obvious suspicion. “That’s when I’d do it,” he explained. “If this place runs on a typical three-shift rotation, security will do shift change at eleven. The overnight guy will make a quick sweep through the building before he settles down in front of his cameras or whatever. So, give him ten or fifteen minutes before going in. He shouldn’t be inside for more than five minutes, but it’s Dorian, so you could probably plan on ten. Also, like I said, the party’s the cover. Dorian’s the host here, and he’s made sure people have seen him all night long. But everyone knows he’s making the rounds, keeping tabs on things, whatever. No one’s going to think twice about it if they don’t see him for an hour or so, especially late at night after everyone’s been drinking; if anyone notices his absence at all, they’ll just assume he’s with someone else. But he’s almost certainly got a date, someone who’ll be able to swear they were kissing at midnight, because that’s what seals his alibi. It’s maybe a five or six-minute walk between here and the museum, but he’s not going to want to risk cutting it so close that his date starts wondering where he is because that’s what makes people wonder if it’s possible he actually left for a while, and he doesn’t want that, so he’ll be back here by eleven-fifty at the latest. It’s really not that hard to figure out, Peter.”

Peter stared at him silently for a moment, shaking his head slowly, before finally saying, “Sometimes you’re scary.”

“Makes you wonder how you ever caught me at all, doesn’t it?” Neal laughed.

“Don’t get too full of yourself there, Caffrey. It might’ve taken me three years the first time, but only about three _hours_ the second. That means that next time, I’ll be slapping the cuffs on you before you even finish _thinking_ about your next score.”

Neal wasn’t fazed. “So, you’re admitting that preemptive arrests are about the only hope you have of stopping me these days. Good to know.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Peter accused lightly.

“You knew what you were getting when you picked me out and took me home.”

Peter laughed and held his hands up in surrender. “You’ve got me there.” But he sobered quickly. “Okay, I’ve got to make some calls. You two, don’t go anywhere.”

“You’re right,” Alex said suddenly when Peter moved to the other side of the tent to start his calls.

Neal raised his eyebrows quizzically and just looked the question at her.

“He’s not a bad guy.”

* * *

It turned out that Peter thought Neal needed an alibi after all and refused to let him leave the small tent until Dorian was in custody or the printing plate could be secured. “If we miss him,” Peter said, “and he manages to get away with the plate, I’d like to be able to testify with absolute certainty that it wasn’t you.”

In other circumstances, Neal might’ve been insulted. But tonight, while Peter continued to work the phone, hastily putting together a small group of agents and police officers to secret themselves away in the Museum of American Finance to catch a thief in the act, Neal and Alex enjoyed their wine and danced.

At one point, when there was nothing left but the waiting, Elizabeth even came by for a short visit and pulled Peter into a dance. As the four of them moved around the small clearing in the tent, El said, “Isn’t this fun? It’s almost like a double-date,” and Neal just laughed at Peter’s grimace.

But at eleven-thirty, the three of them were sitting at the table, anxiously waiting for a phone call.

“I wish there’d been time to get me set up with a commlink,” Peter complained. “At least we’d know if anything was happening at all.”

“It _has_ to be the museum,” Neal said. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.” He’d muttered some variation of that same sentiment at least half a dozen times over the past half hour, growing more anxious each time. Finally, Alex reached over and took his hand.

“Hey,” she said softly, “I’m pretty sure we got it right. But even if we didn’t, you’ve still got your alibi. You’ll be fine.”

Neal didn’t have to look over at Peter to know the man disagreed with Alex’s assessment, and he really didn’t want to dwell on the possibility of a bad outcome, but he figured Alex had a right to know since she’d probably end up in an interrogation room, too. “Not exactly,” he began slowly. “If something else gets hit, it’s going to look like I deliberately steered the cops in the wrong direction, provided a distraction for Dorian.”

Alex’s eyes widened. “No.” She looked across the table. “Peter, tell him that’s not true.”

But that wasn’t an answer Peter could give. “It would certainly be one avenue of investigation. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Neal felt the hand around his tighten as Alex glared across the table, then she leaned closer and whispered, “I told you not to trust him.”

“It’s too late for that,” Neal answered with a shrug, and then they went back to waiting.

At last, at eleven-fifty, Peter’s phone rang, and he grabbed it up with a terse greeting. “Burke.” He listened for almost two full minutes while Neal and Alex waited impatiently, staring, trying to read his expressionless face, before he finally said, “That’s good work, thank you,” and ended the call.

“We got him,” he told them quickly, “along with one other guy. The plate’s secure.”

“Thank God.” Neal slumped down into his chair, letting the relief wash over him, and Alex leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“I told you we had it right.”

“I should never doubt your expertise,” Peter told him with a small smile.

Neal grinned up at him. “See, you got your third solved case from the party after all, and that’s not even counting the Long Island op. Bribes work.”

Before Peter could retort, El popped into the tent. “Hey! You guys are about to miss the big event! And I come bearing gifts.” She held up a champagne bottle, then handed each of them an empty glass and began pouring. “Now, come on outside. We’ll be able to see the fireworks over the bridge.”

The crowd had all gathered toward the river side of the garden, ready for the show, the microphones from the band tent had been turned up, and the vocalist had just called out “One minute!”

Elizabeth led them quickly to a ‘staff only’ area beyond the amphitheater with a perfect view of the Brooklyn Bridge, and they all raised their glasses, ready for the stroke of midnight.

Neal looked around their little circle with a bright smile and pulled Alex closer to him as the crowd started the boisterous ten-second countdown. He pitched his voice low, beneath the celebration. “I’m sorry this wasn’t the night we had planned.”

“I got to spend it dancing with you,” she answered, “so it’s exactly what I had planned. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

And as the year turned, the fireworks began, the band struck up _Auld Lang Syne_ , and she pulled him to her and let her kiss prove the truth of her words.

Neal pulled away from her reluctantly and not fully, keeping his arm around her and resting their foreheads together. “Happy New Year, Alex,” he murmured happily.

“Happy New Year, Neal.”

Then Neal turned his smile back toward the others, raising his glass. “My friends, if I may . . . Here’s to a bright new year and a fond farewell to the old; here’s to the things that are yet to come, and to the memories that we hold.” 

They clinked their glasses cheerfully and drank, all of them matching Neal’s smile, then El leaned closer to Peter and said, “That’s it; I’m definitely inviting him to all my parties.”

“I heard that,” Neal laughed. “And that sounds like a new year’s resolution I could really get behind.”

Peter groaned as he rolled his eyes. “You two are going to be the death of me.”

Elizabeth leaned up and kissed him again. “Oh, come on, Peter, surely being the chaperone hasn’t been all that bad.”

“It’s definitely had some perks,” he admitted and punctuated the thought with another kiss.

“Then it sounds like we’ve got the basis of a perfectly workable incentive plan,” Neal chimed in.

Peter turned a mock glare toward his grinning consultant. “I might be persuaded to serve as a _chaperone_ from time to time, but you have to promise this is the last time I’ll need to be an _alibi._ ”

Neal put on his best innocent face. “I could do that, Peter, but you know how much I try never to make promises I’m not sure I can keep.”

“That’s not particularly encouraging,” Peter answered with a laugh, “but I suppose it’s honest.”

“For you, always.”

The laughter faded from Peter’s features, and he turned to face Neal more directly, taking a step closer, creating privacy for the two of them as he clasped a hand warmly to his young friend’s arm. “You did good tonight, Neal. Thank you for trusting me.”

Peter’s favorite smile returned to Neal’s face as blue eyes melded with brown. “I think that’s probably my line,” Neal said softly. “I know this night could’ve turned out a lot differently in a lot of ways.”

Peter smiled back and raised his glass toward him. “They say you should start the new year the way you want it to continue. You and me tonight, I think we’re off to a pretty good start. Happy New Year, Neal.”

“We are,” Neal agreed contentedly, raising his glass in return. “Happy New Year, Peter.” 

**~END~**

**Author's Note:**

> I know I missed the holiday by a few days, but that’s what happens when a slo-o-o-w writer gets hit with a plot bunny just a few days before a deadline. Also, because I was already running late, this has not been edited to the extent I normally would, so, for the love of all that’s holy, if you spotted any stupid mistakes, please let me know! 😉
> 
> Also, you know I’m always up for any sort of White Collar discussion, and _I_ know Alex is not necessarily a fan favorite—heck, I’m not sure she’s even _my_ favorite. But I do like her a lot, and I think she’s underrepresented, but I’m more than willing to hear your opinions.
> 
> And, most importantly, happy New Year to you all, and I hope that your 2021 is filled with health, love, and prosperity. 


End file.
